


And I Wish I Could, But I Can't Bite My Tongue

by MissDrarryDawn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys Kissing, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Poems, Poetry, flangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:54:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22528183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissDrarryDawn/pseuds/MissDrarryDawn
Summary: And I wish I could,But I can't bite my tongue,Because even poison from you,Is better than none...Harry finds a discarded notebook full of beautifully tragic love poems, about him.//Completed//Word count: 5.1k
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Drarry - Relationship
Comments: 31
Kudos: 325





	And I Wish I Could, But I Can't Bite My Tongue

**Author's Note:**

> gah, i know i suck at writing poetry, shut upp  
> i wanted to write this regardless of that, because i've been in love with the idea ever since i got it  
> hope yall enjoy it!

_I feel like I'm losing my mind,_

_In your eyes, in your smile,_

_And you look at me,_

_So differently than I long for,_

_There's too much to hide,_

_And you'll never know,_

_How you've made a man,_

_Lose control..._

_And I wish I could,_

_But I can't bite my tongue,_

_Because even poison from you,_

_Is better than none..._

_If only you knew,_

_How I dream of you,_

_Of sweet sweet throws,_

_That will never come true..._

_How I wish I could say,_

_That this love will go away,_

_But I am no fool,_

_To ever think that way..._

_Forgive me you won't,_

_For all that I've done,_

_But Harry please don't,_

_For a second think,_

_I wouldn't take it back,_

_In a single blink...._

Harry stared at the first page in the small black leather bound notebook he’d discovered discarded in the bushes of the Forbidden Forest when he’d snuck out for some fresh air after another nightmare wouldn’t give him peace. Sitting under a tree and the light of a Lumos, Harry was very confused. The poem seemed to be addressed to a Harry. The raven wasn’t so arrogant as to assume it was him, of course, but he was still curious as to who it was written for, and more importantly, who wrote it, and why did they throw it away. Wanting to investigate the matter further, Harry turned the page, and found another poem there, written in pristine handwriting.

_It was your eyes,_

_That captured me first,_

_So full of life, fit to burst,_

_Ah, but what I didn't know then,_

_But know all too well now,_

_Is how cruel your eyes could be,_

_When you look at me,_

_And contempt is all I see..._

_Green, green,_

_Oh so very green,  
_

_And warm,_

_So warm,_

_But never for me,_

_And it shouldn't hurt,_

_I've accustomed by now,_

_Yet my heart can't help,  
_

_But endlessly howl..._

Harry didn’t know what to think. He felt awfully nosy and rude, reading someone’s private, personal musings of the heart, but he was so terribly curious to find out whether this was dedicated to him or some other random Harry. Gently tracing the words with his fingertips, Harry continued to read with bated breath.

_Could it have been different?_

_The question taunts me so,_

_If you didn't bear your scar, and I didn't bear my throne,_

_Perhaps then,  
_

_In a world different than the one we know,_

_You could've been mine,_

_And I could've been yours..._

_How I'd love you in such a world, Harry,_

_So fully you'd never want more,  
_

_So warmly you'd never grow cold,  
_

_So boldly you'd never grow bored..._

Harry had by now discerned that this was a matter of unrequited love someone was writing about. The writer seemed to be in love with this Harry, but it sounded as if the affections weren’t returned. Harry could really feel the turmoil through the words, it made his stomach twist with a new, profound sadness for this writer he knew neither name nor face of. It was odd, to find himself so invested in someone else’s woes, but Harry supposed that’s what he’d been doing since he was eleven. Realizing how sore his muscles had grown while he’d sat curled up under that tree, Harry stretched with a wince and gathered his belongings. He stood and wrapped his cloak tightly around his shoulders, notebook clutched in one hand, and set off back into the castle. He’d come out for a bit of fresh air, and seemed to get way more than he bargained for, as it usually seemed to happen with him.

~

When he climbed into his bed upon returning, Harry cast a privacy charm over his curtains, as well as a silencing one, just so he didn’t wake up his peers. He pulled out the notebook and stared at it again in the dark. He closed his eyes and ran his fingers over the smooth leather binding. There was nothing engraved, or pressed into the fabric, it was smooth as glass and rough to the touch. No name or lead as to who it belonged to. Harry cast a quick Lumos overhead, and flipped it open again. Something about the handwriting struck him, though he couldn’t place his finger on it exactly. It seemed oddly familiar in an entirely unfamiliar way. Maybe if he kept reading, he’d find some answers to all these questions. He truly hoped to, because it was such an alluring mystery to solve. He had this gut feeling that there was something to be uncovered here.

_I mourn for that world,_

_But know it can never be,_

_For as long as you're you,_

_And as long as I'm me,_

_The rift between us,_

_Can only be filled with hostility..._

_And it burns,_

_You burn._

_You burn me, Harry Potter..._

Harry blinked and did a double take. He peered at the words again. Yeah, that was definitely his name. This was about him. Mind blank, Harry stared ahead, trying to decide what to make of this. Someone out there was _in love_ with him. Had written poetry to vent their pains that he did not love them back. Then thrown it away. Considering the notebook was on the very edge of the Forbidden Forest, Harry summarized this was someone from Hogwarts. He blinked a few times, and rubbed his eyes. This was crazy. It was most likely some fourteen year old girl who didn’t understand the cost of being who he was, but Harry found himself not quite able to believe that theory, for there was something deep and solemn underlining the entire poem. As if the writer had been struggling with this for _years_ , before putting quill to parchment. As if these thoughts had passed through their head a million times before they finally caved and wrote them down. Another thing that struck Harry as odd was the apology. The writer kept mentioning how Harry wouldn’t forgive them for all that they’ve done, but reiterated that they were sorry and would take it all back if they could. Now, a lot of people had done Harry a lot of wrong over the span of his life, and any of them could be the mystery writer. He shuddered to think what would happen if it turned out to be some rather unsavory character. They seemed convinced Harry could never love them, which was such a sad notion, it gave the raven boy pause for a moment. Harry knew love, he’d harbored it in his heart for years for another, a man Harry was certain he had zero chances with. It was because of that, that Harry understood the pain of the writer all too well. He resigned to loving from afar, but he knew the deep sense of longing and regret that echoed from the poem from the depths of his own heart.

It made him all the more determined to find the writer, for no one should suffer this way. Even though Harry would likely never harbor a romantic love for them, there were different types of love in this world. And even if nothing came of it, he still wanted to talk to them and reassure them that it will be alright some day. Perhaps he could ask around tomorrow during meals and between lectures, see if anyone would lay claim to the notebook. He assumed there would be no such case, because of the nature of the poetry contained within. Still, it would be worth a try.

Harry blew out his Lumos and was swathed in darkness again. He hadn’t imagined his eighth, final year of Hogwarts would lead him through solving another mystery. Though, he supposed it was different this time, this time he welcomed it. Tucking the notebook away under his pillow, he laid down, and closed his eyes to sleep. Just before he drifted off, one last smile inducing thought flittered through his mind. _Someone out there loved him._

~

While he waited for Ron and Neville to shower and get dressed the next morning, Harry flipped through the notebook again, curious to find it hadn’t been filled all that much. Almost a full half of pages were blank, but Harry figured the writer must have worried someone would discover their works, and decided to throw it away before anything like that happened. Harry smiled pitifully. _Just their luck._ The poems themselves were wonderful in Harry’s opinion. They conveyed the emotion they were supposed to, and then some. Or perhaps that was just Harry projecting. Either way, he really liked them. He turned a page to find another poem, quite shorter than the previous ones. The writing was shaky, as if the writer trembled whilst writing. Harry couldn’t imagine what they must have been feeling in those moments.

_Everything hurts,_

_Everything hurts, but you,_

_You're like a goddamn light,_

_My hope and dreams,_

_Dammit Harry, you're everything!_

_And I can't take it,_

_I want you so much,_

_But it'll never happen._

Was the situation so horribly desperate? Harry ached to think of the agony. _Who are you?_ He wondered while heading down to have some breakfast with his friends, not paying any mind to their lilting conversation. He had the notebook tucked under his arm, his brows furrowed as he pondered what was the best way to go around asking. He couldn’t ask every student individually, that would take _forever_ , so perhaps he might just address the entirety of the school-body while the meal was ongoing.

Just as he’d decided that, they entered the Great Hall and made for their usual seats. Harry’s eyes traveled of their own accord to a figure. Draco Malfoy. The love Harry never thought he’d live until it hit him square in the nose, in the midst of the bloody Fiendfyre. All that aggression and hostility that had stemmed from a place of admiration, but which Harry horribly misplaced as hatred. Draco had everything Harry never did. At least at first glance. As time passed, that admiration only morphed into its many different forms, never once waning. And finally, it grew into a love so deep it felt as if it’d been growing roots in Harry’s heart for longer than he could remember. And it was only when there was the stark, terrifying possibility Draco would _die_ , that Harry could finally separate the aggressive consequence from the besotted, head over heels source. There had been no time then, or after that, to muse more, but after the dust had settled, Harry could think about everything. He most often thought of Draco, who’d risked absolutely everything to cover up for Harry, who’d tossed him his wand in the final battle, who Harry had seen be the most cruel a person can, he’d seen him be the most afraid a person can, he’d seen him be the most loyal a person can, Harry had seen too much of Draco to _not_ love him. And Harry’s greatest regret yet, was not realizing it all sooner for it was much too _late_ now.

~

About halfway through breakfast, Harry took a deep breath and clambered up onto his chair, standing up high. Heads turned in his direction and he pulled the notebook out. After casting a quick Sonorus to his voice, he floated the notebook high up, in clear sight of everyone. Then he finally spoke:

“I found this notebook by the forest yesterday. I don’t know who it belongs to, but I want to return it and talk to them perhaps. If this is your notebook, please come and get it back.”

His voice projected across the Hall, and was met with silence. Harry looked at every person in turn, trying to gauge anything from their facial expressions, disappointed to find only mild interest and vast indifference. That was, until, he looked at Draco. He was staring up at the notebook, slate gray eyes wide, lips ever so slightly parted. His usually pale skin had grown ashen, he sat stiff as a stick in his seat.

Could it be…his?

Harry bit his lip and cast those thoughts away. He wasn’t that lucky. Just as he was about to sit down and give up this venture, there was a soft voice:

“I know whose notebook that is Harry.” Luna spoke, smiling up at it.

Harry blinked, and grinned. He dispelled his charms and grabbed it out of the air, before hopping down from his chair. His friends looked puzzled, but didn’t stop him as he made his way to sit next to Luna. As he did so, he glanced at Draco again, he looked as if he was going to be sick, cheeks tinted red. His eyes bore into the back of Luna’s head incessantly, which assured Harry he had something to do with the notebook. He wasn’t yet sure what, but he was much too affected and terrified looking to be clean of this.

Harry sat down next to Luna, and she slid closer until she was pressed to his side. She turned her head to whisper to Harry, very cautiously:

“That’s Draco’s notebook.”

What? No way. Harry couldn’t believe his ears.

“Wait, real- _really?”_ He whisper-yelled to her, voice betraying his disbelief. Luna smiled serenely at him and nodded:

“While we were held prisoners at the Manor, Draco would bring us extra food and blankets, and heal our wounds when the Death Eaters got impatient. And he’d always carry that notebook with him, tucked away in his robes. He took care of us, despite the risks, and we all warmed up to him pretty soon. I asked him about it once and he pulled it out and showed me.” Luna’s eyes were misted while she spoke, but still warm and sharp.

Harry’s heart felt heavy as a stone as she recounted the story. He patiently waited for her to continue:

“He showed me the poems, and talked to me about how miserable it made him, his family’s legacy on one side, and you on the other. He couldn’t find a way to ever connect the two. He told me he wouldn’t be able to stand it if you ever found out and mocked him for it, he was certain you’d lash out viciously, to punish him for all he’d been forced to do and be.”

Something snapped inside Harry. Hearing that, the despair and loneliness, Harry couldn’t breathe from the weight of it. He only vaguely felt tears pouring down his cheeks, everything fading to a blur.

“If only I had known...” He muttered bitterly to himself, staring down at the black notebook in his hands. “If only I’d realized something was wrong _sooner_ , maybe things would have been different.”

Luna placed her hands on his cheeks, wiped his tears with her thumbs. Her gentle manner was graced in her every move:

“Now, now, Harry. You couldn’t have known. Even if you had known, you couldn’t have done much for Draco. Voldemort held everything that was dear to Draco in the palm of his hand. His home, his family, he even had _you_ for a short time. You couldn’t of helped any more than what you ended up doing anyways.”

Taking a deep breath, Harry nodded, sending a soft smile Luna’s way. She was such a blessing of a friend, it was unbelievable. Harry would sacrifice a limb for her.

“Alright, thank you. What do you suggest I do now though? I assume Draco won’t really want to talk to me.”

Luna wrinkled her nose and nodded:

“You assume correctly. He’s terrified Harry, that you’ll stomp on his feelings. He doesn’t believe you could love him, because of…because of the…” Luna trailed off and gestured to her left forearm, and Harry’s eyes widened.

“No, no, that’s not—That’s not true.” Harry quickly protested. Luna nodded:

“I understand. Draco can’t help but constantly remind himself that what it represents is everything you stand against.”

Harry absent-mindedly drummed his fingers across the notebook’s leather binding:

“It _is._ But that doesn’t mean I hate _him_. I…I saw you know, I saw that he didn’t have a say. Voldemort had a wand pointed at his mother the whole time, in case Draco tried to refuse.”

Harry shook his head of the dark memories, and continued:

“Now, when it’s all over, it’s most reasonable to look at it like a mere tattoo. You don’t have to like it or like what it means, but that doesn’t mean you must hate the person too.”

Luna hummed her agreement:

“Yes, that’s certainly an interesting way to look at it.” She was silent for a moment. “Have you read them all?” She asked.

Harry thought about it. There were maybe one or two poems left.

“No, there’s a bit left. Why?” He said, automatically going to open the notebook when Luna reached for it.

“There’s one line I found particularly beautiful, and had memorized.” She was absently flipping through the pages, looking up at Harry while she recalled:

_“All my words unspoken, all my longings hidden, yet in the end I know I can not forever hide what my heart is like.”_

“Here. In this one.” Luna tapped a finger on the page. It was the very last poem in the notebook. Harry leaned closer to read it in its entirety.

_And though you'll never be mine,_

_Though you'll never know,_

_Because I'll never tell,_

_There's a simple truth I must face._

_No disguise is perfect,_

_There's a flaw in every mask,_

_And come one day, mine, too, will fall,_

_Just like all the rest..._

_All my words unspoken,_

_All my longings hidden,_

_Yet I know I can not forever hide,_

_What my heart is like._

_When that day comes,_

_I only hope for one small, final, mercy, Harry,_

_That you'll turn away before I break,_

_That you won't see a tear,_

_That is all I dare hope for, my dear..._

Harry’s mouth was dry. Words failed him. Every word felt as if it was his own, for he’d thought of this many times in the time since he’d realized how deeply he cared for Draco. It was so cathartic and maddeningly sad to see it layed out the way Draco had layed it all bare.

Luna poked his cheek, to snap him out of his daze, and smiled:

“He’s loved you for over three years, Harry.”

Harry looked up at her and shook his head:

“No, even longer than that. It was easier to take it as something else and transform it into anger and taunting than face it for what it really was. We’re both guilty of it.”

Luna nodded:

“Yes, you’re both guilty of it. For all of us, outside looking in, the flare was palpable in the air between you, but I suppose to you two, it couldn’t have been obvious, being much too subjective to the issue.”

Harry nodded, and composed himself. There had been enough suffering, there had been enough blood and death. The Wizarding World was free, there was no bloody reason why he shouldn’t chase his happiness.

Harry knew what he wanted to do, with crystal clarity.

“Ah, there’s that reckless, determined face.” Luna snorted softly, patting his cheek. “The one that promises you’re about to plunge yourself headfirst into yet another mess.”

Harry chuckled. If only she knew how right she was:

“That, Lulu, I am.” With a jaunty wink, Harry stood, realizing breakfast was nearly over. They’d really gotten carried away. When Harry searched out Draco again, he was gone.

Harry felt a pang of worry thinking about how restless Draco must be feeling now, considering everything Luna had told him, but he bravely pushed on through the worry. He exited the Great Hall and climbed right back up into Gryffindor’s tower, tucked himself away in his bed.

He summoned a charmed quill, opened the notebook, and took a deep breath to clear his head. He thought of all the reasons he loved Draco, trying to pinpoint the moment it happened exactly, but to no avail. It was slow, insidious in its camouflage, Harry didn’t notice a thing. Nevertheless, he could feel his heart swell with unrestrained joy as the realization finally sunk in. Not only did someone out there love him, that someone was Draco.

And so, Harry pressed quill to parchment, and wrote.

~

It had taken him the rest of that day to write down everything he wanted, he’d skipped class and couldn’t have cared less about it. This was something more precious than Harry had ever known anything could be.

Just like Draco had laid himself bare in his poems, Harry had done the same. He filled page after page with his own poetry, let all his feelings flow. Years upon years of blindly chasing down a purpose, not realizing it was closer than ever. Years upon years of falling for someone so quietly and serenely, he hadn’t noticed a thing. And a moment, one moment, when it stopped being quiet. One moment where it shouted loud and proud, loud enough to wake Harry up. A moment of fire and clarity, and one Harry will never forget until the rest of his life. Such a burden had been lifted from his heart when he put the quill down, he breathed easier. That was it. Harry carefully dog-eared the page where his own poems started, and closed the notebook. He carefully slid it under his pillow, and laid down to sleep, exhausted but exhilarated for tomorrow.

~

Morning dawned bright and cheerful for Harry. He was high on a jubilant feeling and he breezed through his morning absent and daydreaming. Ron was more than a little annoyed but he ultimately let it go, writing it off to one of Harry’s _‘episodes’._

Coming down to breakfast, Harry was disheartened to find Draco wasn’t there. Perhaps he’d come to class? Harry hoped he would, because he had something very important to give him. Rather, give him _back_ what was already his.

He didn’t show up for class either.

After Harry realized that he wasn’t there for the first two lessons, he likely won’t be coming for the others either, he had to resort to other means of reaching him.

So when the time came for their next lesson, Harry took a seat next to Pansy Parkinson.

“Parkinson.” Harry greeted her, and she startled upon finding him there.

“Potter…? What are you…?” She didn’t finish either of her sentences as Harry placed the notebook on the table in front of him. Her eyes trailed to it for a moment, before she looked up at Harry.

“I’m going to be honest with you Parkinson.” Harry leaned forwards, eyes somber and serious. “I know this notebook belongs to Draco.”

She spluttered for a moment, but before she could speak, Harry continued:

“I’ve read everything in it.”

Now he stopped, and allowed her time for everything to sink in.

She was gnawing on her bottom lip, brow furrowed for a few moments:

“Alright. What do you want now?”

Harry relaxed and grounded himself. When he spoke his voice came out with only the slightest of tremors, a feat he was proud of himself for accomplishing:

“I want to return it to him. I want to talk to him.” He waged whether or not to say more.

“He doesn’t want to talk to you. Not now, not ever.” Parkinson bluntly informed him, eyes flickering.

Harry swallowed. In for a Knut, in for a Galleon it is then.

“I won’t hurt him, Pansy.”

She scoffed and rolled her eyes:

“Sure. Like you didn’t want to hurt him in sixth year?”

Harry winced and grimaced. It was his worst transgression yet, he couldn’t forgive himself that. He sighed deeply:

“I hadn’t known then. I only realized when I pulled him out of the Fiendfyre. It had been a long time coming, but I didn’t know until then.”

Pansy half turned to face him now, eyes narrowed and calculating. Harry continued talking, saying it all outloud after so long:

“I thought it came from a place of annoyance, at first. All the aggression. I only later realized it came from somewhere else entirely.”

She leaned forwards imperceptibly, and spoke, surprising Harry with the interest in her voice:

“So where was it all stemming from then?”

Harry bit his lip.

“Where I grew up, they…didn’t like me at all. Didn’t like magic in general. Treated me poorly. And Draco seemed to have everything I never had. I admired him, the way he handled himself, maybe I was even jealous, who knows anymore? And I hated that I admired him, hence all the stupidity that ensued.”

Pansy blinked. She looked as if she hadn’t expected Harry to answer her question in such an honest way. She was bouncing her leg under the table, and Harry took a breath and continued talking still. It was important to make an effort with Draco’s friends if he planned to ask him out, which he definitely intended to do.

“That admiration never went away, yknow? It just changed and grew and it made me angrier that it was still there, and things just kept getting worse. And I had no clue what it had eventually turned into until the Fiendfyre, when there was the very real possibility he’d die.”

Silence bloomed between the two of them then, Harry determinedly staring Pansy right in the eyes. Draco was worth every effort.

“The password is Vipers.” Was all that Pansy said, and it was all she needed to say.

Harry asked to go to the bathroom and was excused, rushing down to the Slytherin dungeon. His heart was beating in his throat, he was brimming with excitement.

When he found himself in front of the portrait, he spoke, out of breath:

“Vipers.”

The painting swung aside and Harry took a deep breath to steady himself, and stepped into the common room. It hadn’t changed a zilch since he’d been there all those years ago, though that hardly mattered now.

Harry stepped deeper into the common room, his breath hitched when he found Draco sitting on the couch, staring into the green flames in the fireplace. He didn’t seem to notice Harry had entered.

Tentatively, Harry cleared his throat.

Draco abruptly turned, and blanched the moment he recognized Harry.

“I know the notebook is yours.” Harry spoke slowly, gently.

If possible, Draco turned even paler, but he still said nothing. As if he couldn’t get the words out of his throat.

“I’ve come to return it. I hope you don’t mind, I’ve added a few of my own poems.”

Harry walked to the couch without falter, and sat down next to Draco, who looked distinctly uncomfortable. Harry proffered the notebook:

“Here. You should read them.”

Too floored to protest, Draco took the notebook and opened it, flipping through to the dog-eared page. He started to read, and Harry sat back quietly, staring into the fire and wondering how this would end.

Every once in a while, Harry would hear a soft gasp, or a sharp intake of breath as Draco read, but that was all the noise there was in the room. Time stretched on, but Harry was perfectly content by Draco’s side.

After another moment, Draco closed the notebook. Harry turned to face him and studied his expression. There was such open wonder in his eyes, that it melted Harry’s heart.

“Did you like them?” Harry finally broke the silence, daring a tiny, hopeful smile.

Draco blinked, then started to laugh. Abruptly, with no prelude, he laughed. An invisible stone dissolved in Harry’s stomach. While Harry sat there, watching this little fit, he realized there were tears streaming from Draco’s eyes while he laughed.

“Hey, are you okay?” He reached and shook Draco’s shoulders, who was slowly calming down.

“I honestly don’t know.” Draco finally spoke, shaking his head and wiping his face. “Am I dreaming? How the hell did you even get in here?”

Harry chuckled, and scooted closer:

“Pansy gave me the password.”

Draco shook his head. They hadn’t addressed the elephant in the room, but Harry was alright with that, they had quite some time before lessons were over.

A silence descended around them, but it was the comfortable sort.

“You were the last person who was supposed to find it.” Draco suddenly spoke, breaking the silence.

“I’m well aware.” Harry nodded. “At first I thought the poems were meant for some other Harry.”

Draco snorted.

“They’re beautiful Draco.” Harry shrugged. “Why did you throw it out?”

“It hurt too much.” Draco answered at length. “It always hurt. Every day.”

Harry swallowed a load of emotion. He knew, of course.

“Yes, it did. Just looking at you…” He trailed off, sighing deeply.

“And now?” Draco asked, tentative in his hope.

Harry smiled softly and turned to him fully on the couch. He slowly reached out a hand, so honored to have this privilege, and cradled Draco’s face. The blonde tilted his head into the touch. Harry leaned in further and further, not quite comprehending what he was about to do, stopping himself just short of Draco’s lips.

“May I?” He whispered.

“You must.” Draco croaked.

And they kissed.

They kissed like the sea kisses the sky, they kissed like there was nothing else for them in the world, they kissed like they’d been doing so for years, lips slotting perfectly into each other’s grooves and dips. They kissed all their desperation out, they kissed away the years of hurt, the pining, the suffering, they kissed out every worry until there was nothing left but soft sighs and quiet whimpers, until there was nothing else but each other.

And when they parted for air, they were both panting heavily, flushed and marveling at what just happened.

“I better not have fucking dreamt that.” Draco announced suddenly, trembling slightly, face dead serious. Harry burst into raucous, fond laughter. He couldn’t help but lean in and kiss Draco again.

“You didn’t.” Harry assured. “Merlin, I can’t believe it.” His voice had given out on him, now no more than a breathless whisper.

Draco leaned into him, pressing as close as possible. He said nothing, but he didn’t need to. Harry wrapped an arm around him and lay back on the couch, smiling up to the ceiling like a fool.

He absently played with Draco’s hair, lost in thought. He couldn’t believe luck was for once on his side.

“Will you go out with me?” He murmured lazily, breaking the cozy silence.

“That’s a dumb question.” Draco informed him and Harry chuckled.

They lay together, oblivious to the passage of time, wrapped up in each other.

~

_How I’d love you in such a world, Harry…_

_~_

_Fin._

**Author's Note:**

> if anyone's interested, i can post the collection of poems from draco's notebook.  
> i haven't really had much practice with poetry, i've written some poems before, but never with a specific goal like its done here.  
> well, i hope i did well!  
> thanks for reading!  
> Evie~
> 
> Find more on my [Tumblr](https://missdrarrydawn.tumblr.com/)


End file.
